Morago
The Snake Pit
The demon opened reptilian eyes. Its rest had lasted seven hundred years.
What has awakened me?
Balled together with other slumbering demons—snakes coiled at the mouth of hell—Morago eased away from the others.
He slithered from the knotted coil and raised his head to contemplate the gate. Bound in hell, it stood as a barrier between his kind and the world of men. Each of his demon brethren would confront a gate different from his, as individual as the demons themselves.
No stranger to the world of men, Morago had entered on numerous occasions. A hunter by nature, he coveted power. Any power he acquired remained his by right, by the law of the predator, the conqueror. His prey always had the ability to defeat him, and they always knew he approached.
His release from hell would have been preceded by prophecy. A foretelling for those who knew where to look and how to listen. This type of contest had played out many times over the centuries. Each triumph added a new skill to his arsenal. Each defeat returned him to hell.
He considered himself the most magnificent demon in his coil. His abilities provoked much envy among his lesser brethren.
They would take my power if they could.
Yet, he remained undefeated.
Anticipation shivered down his serpentine body. Desire for a new talent, one which existed solely in the world of men, filled him. The opportunity to obtain new ones struck but once a millennium. Only by defeating his opponent and consuming their soul could he take their magic as his own. For that was where true power resided—in the soul.
Possession had been his first skill acquisition for use in the world of men. He earned the ability to possess another over a thousand years ago in this very hall. The demon he defeated served him as a slave now, along with two dozen other demonic souls, who had been felled by his prowess. Under his command, he could unleash them with a thought to do his bidding. His demonic horde amplified his authority and served at his will.
More—I need more magic, more skills.
Powerful in hell, the capabilities he used against his brethren demons were forbidden to him on Earth. Once he entered the realm of men, he became vulnerable because of his limited power.
But the potential reward!
With deliberate thought, he reviewed his earthly skills. Limited mind-reading—he could skim the minds of unwarded humans—know their thoughts. Seduction—when in possession of a human body, none could withstand his charm. He had only one skill which remained potent in both worlds—Absorption. The moment of his opponent’s defeat, he would absorb their power, along with their soul.
The abilities he coveted were many: prescience, invulnerability, teleportation, and shape-shifting, to name a few.
I want them all.
Each new skill built on others. As his power increased, new abilities became easier to acquire.
A sensation crawled along his skin and flared his scales with desire. It spoke to him of elemental manipulation. The power of the witch. He coveted those skills more than any other, even though it meant a dangerous adversary awaited him. His eyes dilated in anticipation, and his forked tongue tasted the air.
As the Prophecy of the Twins came into fulfillment, a painful shock shot through his scales. Elemental power twyned, and the gates of his personal hell swung open. Morago slithered into the world of man, prepared for the hunt.
This was not the first time prophecy had released him from hell. Each time before, he could pinpoint the location where the prophecy manifested, but not this time. Two distinct positions—miles apart—burned into his mind as he slid along the bottom of the ocean, away from his prison. He swam north along the coast, toward the nearest point of revelation.
Morago left the water of the North Atlantic and coiled in the mud beneath a pier. Sailors and merchants passed along the boards above his head. Their thoughts slipped through his mind, dreams of sweethearts, business deals, travelers. A busy port, chosen well for his purposes.
A merchant nearby directed the loading of his wagon and reviewed the route for his deliveries. A route which would take him inland, in the direction Morago desired to go.
Serpent skin split and fell empty as Morago's evil essence turned to vapor. The initial possession of a living being could not take place while in his primordial form. His pure essence had to be inhaled to gain control of a living creature. Once inside a warm-blooded host, he could jump from mind to mind with only a thought. He could not maintain a vapor form for long, and there lay his greatest danger. To release the primordial too soon, and not take command of a suitable host, would return his soul to hell.
The low floating vapor meandered along the waterfront and spread unnoticed toward the road. His target, the unsuspecting merchant.
The man stepped off the pier and into the dusty street as he followed the dockworker, along with his merchandise, to his wagon. Both the worker and the merchant passed through a dense patch of fog. The merchant became choked and began to sneeze. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and held the material balled in his fist to his nose.
“Dieu vous bénisse!” The workman called over his shoulder as he loaded crates onto the wagon.
God bless you! the workman had shouted.
The merchant chuckled and returned the handkerchief to his pocket. “Merci.”
Undetected, Morago rode beside the merchant’s consciousness and peered out through the man's eyes, filled with malevolent anticipation.